Awry
by Matrix-Twin1
Summary: In which it seems Enjolras' empathy can only be reached through extremes.


(AN: I've never done a story from Enjy's perspective, so let me know what you think of it. This went in a totally different direction than I intended...it wasn't supposed to be this angsty! The first part was written at like 3 AM...heh. I read about a similar substance to that mentioned...somewhere...I have no idea where...a while ago. It popped into my head, and I was like "Grantaire!" heh poor boy. So tormented.

Extremely mild slashy implications...nothing else, really.)

Awry

"I know what to do about Grantaire!"

I glanced up; Combeferre had just stepped in out of the rain. I gave him a quick, amused smile. Only he ever receives it. "And what might that be, dear heart?" Mildly humouring him—there's nothing to be done with _that _man—but still curious.

He smiled back, removing his hat and shaking out his damp hair. I've never been able to figure out how he gets his hair wet with a hat…one of his amusing quirks, I suppose. In any case…

He pouted beautifully. "You don't believe me. Wretch."

I smiled at him, a little hurt. I hate to be teased. "Alright, alright, I don't care what it is, as long as…well…I don't know. What are you planning, 'Tienne?"

He was positively beaming by this point. "Well, today, the professor was saying…"

I prepared for a long Ode to Professor-Doctor-So-and-So. There's only so much even I can take, really.

He stomped his foot, ever so delicately. "Enjolras! Listen! Now, as I was saying…"He hadn't called me Enjolras in years. I was listening.

"He was talking about this…well…I'm not quite sure what it is. Some sort of medicine, I gather. Anyway, you put it in wine, or alcohol, or…I suppose anything, actually…"

You see, I do have rather more patience than I'm credited with. Just not with…well, alright, only with 'Tienne. If we're being painfully honest here. I made a very slight motion with one hand, urging him on.

His eyes had taken on a rather sadistic gleam that even I was rather frightened by. "You put it in the alcohol…or whatever…and it tastes so disgusting that whoever drinks it immediately feels 'hung over', with all that such a state entails…"

Looking rather disgusted, I urged him to skip the description.

"…and, the recipient becomes so averse to alcohol (or whatever) that they avoid it forever!" He finished with a rather triumphant flourish, as though he had announced a Divine Revelation.

I applauded, which seemed to please him. "Bravo, 'Tienne. Do you know where we could get some?"

"Oh, oui, apparently it's quite common…any apothecary should have it."

I couldn't resist rubbing my hands together, ever so gently, with anticipation. I gave him a quick kiss on the forehead, absolutely delighted with him. "'Tienne…you never cease to amaze me. Je t'aime. Á bientôt. I'll be home later."

He peered at me, adjusting his spectacles. "What're you up to?"

I gave my best innocent look. He wasn't fooled. "Oh, nothing…just a quick stop to the apothecary."

He gave me an exceedingly stern look. "Marcelin! You wouldn't. You know I wasn't being serious. Get the thought out of your head this instant." He gave a little self-righteous 'hmph' for punctuation.

I kissed him again, with a little more passion this time. "'Tienne, I don't know what you're talking about. Stay here, and don't worry your head about this. I know what I'm doing."

He looked rather sceptical, but shrugged. I guess he didn't think I was that cruel. Never to him, of course! But not everyone can be a Combeferre, sad to say. No, some are born Winecasks!

Halfway to the apothecary, I realized I'd forgotten to ask the dosage. I shrugged. How hard could it be? Joly hadn't killed himself or blown anything up, and gods knew what that boy got up to. I bought a small packet of Combeferre's Patented Winecask Repellent, and tried to think what to do next.

I glanced at my watch. Half past 11. At this time, Grantaire would probably be at some café or other, drinking, whoring, and generally contributing to the corruption of society. After about fifteen minutes of the opening for a new speech running through my head, I tried to think of the least suspicious way to get a doctored bottle of wine to Grantaire…if I just left it on his step…well…where he lived, who knew who would get it. And I couldn't very well take it to him. Even he might be suspicious…perhaps if I told him I loved him, wouldn't he drink it for me? …revolting, and suspicious. Hmm…

Twenty minutes found me, bottle in hand, at Courfeyrac's door. I knocked with all the imperiousness I could muster. After a few minutes, he appeared: dishevelled, wearing only trousers, and quite red. He beamed to see me. I gave him the look he richly deserved, which cowed him a bit.

Never having been one for undue talking, I thrust the bottle at him. "Give this to Grantaire. Don't tell him it's from me."

The next day, of course, was a meeting. I was well into my new speech (if it sounded preachy, I am sorry. I had that damned excuse for a man on the mind. It was all I could do to keep a straight face, I kept glancing at him, waiting for the fireworks). Courfeyrac stumbled in, pale, shaking, and, well…looking like shit, if I may say so. At his entrance, everyone glanced up. Even I paused, with a look of almost-concern.

He waved, clearly wanting us to ignore his state. Combeferre, sweetest of men, was immediately at his side, murmuring to him, soothing him, questioning him. As I had lost the attention of my audience (and, alright, I was a little worried about the man), I stepped down from my little platform, and joined the group surrounding Courfeyrac. I had a sudden suspicion. I peered at him very closely.

As I suspected, he looked away, guiltily. Getting very close to him, I hissed in his ear, "Have a little too much to drink?"

He paled still further, making little distressed sounds. "I'm sorry…it's just…wine from Enjolras…"

"Fool. You deserve what you get. It was _wine_ from _me_ to _Grantaire_! What did you think?" I shook my head, no longer remotely sympathetic. I suppose it really is true—if one wants something done, one must do it one's self. Fine.

I decided on a direct approach. Pouring the last of the powder into a handy glass of wine, I approached Grantaire while the others were distracted by Courfeyrac. "Drink this."

He blinked at me, stupidly. How I loathe that man.

I waved it at him, I supposed enticingly. Besides, everything I do is enticing to him. "Come on Grantaire…nice wine…from me, your—Apollo." I bit back a grimace of distaste.

He raised an eyebrow. "You must really think I'm stupid. For one thing, that's Joly's glass. I never drink anything of Joly's. Second, you put something in it. Third, I heard what you and Courfeyrac were saying."

I glowered, fighting to keep control of my face. Damn. There was only one choice. "If you drink it…I'll kiss you."

He blushed, which made me feel slightly better about his morals.

I thought my hardest about France, Patria, the Revolution, the glory of the light of progress…for the barest second, even he was lit by it. He didn't look half bad. But just for a moment. I made sure Combeferre was still distracted, before leaning closer, my face nearly touching his, wine held between us. "Drink," I whispered, in my softest of Etienne-voices, running my hand ever so lightly over his grizzled cheek. Bleh.

He shuddered all over. For a moment, I truly thought I had killed him. His breath became ragged, his whole body tensed. I was just about to call Combeferre over, when he violently seized the wine glass, draining it in one swallow. I smiled, rather wickedly. Maybe I wouldn't even have to kiss him.

I wasn't sure if it was only my imagination, but I heard him say, "For you, I would drink poison."

I blinked a bit at this. He never ceased to amaze me with his oddness. What a stupid thing to say. I patted him on the shoulder, not sure what else to say.

If I was saving him, why did I feel like an executioner?

I leaned in again, to kiss him. He waved me away, with a look of such infinite pain that I shuddered, drawing away.

"Don't." He turned away, snuffling to himself.

I stepped outside for a moment, to regain myself. Stupid Winecask. His fumes must have gotten to me.

Courfeyrac was still surrounded, now looking much better, clearly playing up his misery for all it was worth. Joly was practically sitting in his lap, much to Bossuet's chagrin. My poor Etienne was taken in, as well. I shook my head, fondly. Gazing around, seeing that Courfeyrac was in no danger of anything worse than his usual lifestyle, I happened to glance at Grantaire.

He was slumped in his corner, mouth open. I sighed. "Grantaire, must you be so melodramatic?" However, I did have a strange feeling of anxiety. This wasn't like him. Well, alright, it was, but he usually had to be drunker. I poked his shoulder. He didn't move. I whispered, "Grantaire…" in his ear. Still nothing. I placed a hand on his chest, the other one going instinctively to his throat, to check for a pulse.

"Etienne!" In my shock and horror, I forgot to call him Combeferre. Hearing the panic in my voice, he glanced up, almost giving himself whiplash. He knew I wouldn't sound like that for no reason. "He's…he's not breathing."

Luckily, Combeferre could keep his head under fire. He leapt over the crowd around Courfeyrac, now gaping in my direction, and quickly began doing medical type things to what I was already thinking of as Grantaire's corpse. He also rattled off a string of questions, most of which I couldn't answer. How should I know what he'd been drinking?

After a few minutes, Combeferre leaned back, eyes closed. I was already thinking how on earth I would eulogize the stupid Winecask, when Etienne gave a gentle smile. "He's alright. He does have a pulse, it's just very faint. He's breathing again."

There was a collective sigh of relief. Alright, damn it! I would miss the drunkard if he was…dead. I shivered. My voice sounded faint and young, not like myself at all. "Will he…be alright?"

Etienne gathered me gently into his arms, smoothing my hair, ignoring the wondering looks of the amis. "Oui, mon cher. He'll need care, though. We'll have to bring him home with us."

I nodded, not really thinking.

"Help me carry him."

The others trailed off, most of them touching Grantaire, as if to reassure themselves that he was alive. I promised to pass on their well wishes if…when…he woke up.

I helped Etienne carry him to our flat, and laid him gently on the bed. When I turned around, I almost didn't recognize my gentle Combeferre. Before I could react, he struck me across the face.

I was so stunned, I almost fell on top of Grantaire. All I could do was stare at him, dumbly. "…Etienne?"

"How could you! Merde!" Combeferre never swore. "You…you…bungling meddler! You could have killed him! He almost died tonight—you almost ended this man's life!"

I sat on the edge of the bed, swallowing hard. "'Tienne…I…"

"Don't." That word was so hard. I closed my eyes, hard, to keep the tears back. "Don't play your games, not with me. Don't pretend you don't know what I mean."

I sighed. "I…I was trying to help. I don't want to see him dead of cirrhosis any more than you do…"

"So you just want him dead, is that it!" He sounded almost hysterical.

I looked away. This left me looking at Grantaire. "I should have…"

"No. You shouldn't have. Damn you." This last was nearly hissed. I felt a bolt of utter pain, reminding me again of Grantaire.

"Oh gods…"

"What." He was preparing something from his medical kit, not even bothering to look at me, so great was his disgust.

"I…it's worse than you know."

"Tell me." Again, cold and factual. He had filled a syringe with something, and was inspecting it.

"Non. I can't. Can you ever forgive me?"

He sighed, approaching Grantaire with the syringe. The faintest of smiles graced his face, and he brushed my hair, though it could have been by accident. "Mon cher, I could forgive you anything. The question is, will he?"

"Of course he will, he—" I stopped under Etienne's blazing glare. "Oui, you're right. He's really ok?"

He nodded. "I'm sorry, I can't…I can't stay with you tonight. You understand."

I nodded, miserably. "Of course."

"Stay with him. He could use the warmth, and gods know he could use some comfort."

I was still too shocked to object.

So, that night found me, in the bed I share with Combeferre, holding a yet unconscious Grantaire. Life is strange.

Of course, by morning I had forgotten. I rolled over to ask sleepy-'Tienne what he wanted for breakfast…only to see that a changeling was in his place…some sort of horrible troll. My eyes wide, I attempted to creep out of the bed without waking it. I heard an annoyed cough from the doorway.

I smothered Combeferre with kisses, clutching him to me. "Oh, 'Tienne…you're alright…you're here…but then…"

He shoved me away, somewhere between amused and frustrated. "Grantaire?" he reminded me.

Oh. Right. I stared at the creature in the bed with loathing, until I felt Combeferre shove me forward.

"None of that. You owe him…well, a lot, for what you've done."

I nodded, sighing dramatically. "Damn…well…he looks much better today. I'm sure we can just pop him into the nearest café…"

He didn't even bother answering that. "He still hasn't come to…that's bad." He patted Grantaire's cheeks, softly, then with increasing firmness. "Get the smelling salts from my bag."

"Oh, 'Tienne, you know what a headache those give—alright, alright."

Grantaire gave a retching cough, blinking his eyes open.

Etienne smiled gravely at him, looking rather ominous, I thought. "Hello, Alain. How do you feel?"

Grantaire blinked again. He tried to speak, and gave another rasping cough. Etienne passed him a glass of water, still smiling gently. Grantaire drank with a little nod of thanks, before trying again. "'Ferre? What…"

Etienne shot a terrible look at me, before gently supporting Grantaire so he could sit up, fluffing the pillows behind him. I was mildly jealous. Stupid Winecask.

"It's alright. Enjolras—well—he had a very idiotic, if well meaning, idea."

I was grateful he allowed me that much.

Grantaire swallowed painfully, wincing as he moved. "Hmm?"

He explained, rather brusquely.

"Oh." Grantaire was staring at me, with the strangest look. It was half apologetic, half forgiving, and entirely melancholy. It hurt to see, frankly. At that moment, I would have done anything to cheer him up.

As it was, I mumbled. "Sorry…"

He shrugged. "'s fine." It clearly wasn't.

Combeferre left, silently.

I sat on the edge of the bed again, trying very hard not to look at him.

He sat up, stifling groans. "Why?" Spoken very gently, almost intimately.

"Because, I wanted to free you from—"

He gave a short, harsh laugh. I was glad to hear it, honestly. It made him sound like himself again. "Really. Why?"

"I wanted to hurt you, damn it! I wanted you to suffer for all those stares, those feeble, pathetic glances, those hours of unrequited love."

"Merci."

I still wasn't looking at him. I nodded, head bowed.

His breathing sounded odd. I realized he was weeping. "You think I wanted this? Any of this? Sometimes I pretend I'm a knight or something, longing for a…someone…I know I can never have. I think about writing poetry, music, to speak of this impossible love. You know what I mean."

I nodded. It was horrible, but oddly touching.

"I know there can never be anything. Gods…I don't even know what I'd do if I had you. Most of the time, it's enough just to be near you. To dream that I deserve to have such a light in my life. I almost wish you had killed me."

I turned, nearly in tears myself. "Please. Don't say that."

He was turned away, shoulders heaving. I laid a hand on his back, and he flinched as though I had burnt him. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry that this happened, I'm sorry for what I've done, and I'm sorry that it can never be."

He nodded, and left.


End file.
